Page 71 of Beyond Oblivion

“What else is there to try?” Camille asked.

For the first time, I saw Dr. Ley shift in his chair, clearly preparing to tell us something difficult. “Not much, I’m afraid. I don’t want to alarm you, but we need to discuss the implications, what role this plays in infertility, and potential next steps.”

My body couldn’t decide if it wanted to finally relax because we had a diagnosis and a game plan or gear up for a fight for the exact same reasons. Every sentence out of the doc’s mouth felt like getting hit by one of my brothers—each punch landing harder than the last. Just when I thought I was about to snap, his words blurred together. It felt like I was being buried alive by a jungle’s worth of medical word salad, and I had no idea how to come up for air.

“Surgery?” Camille asked.

I blinked, sitting higher in my chair.

“It’s a big decision, and I understand it feels overwhelming,” Dr. Ley said. “But based on everything we’ve tried, it’s the most effective option to prevent the painful symptoms you’ve been dealing with for so long. We’ve exhausted other treatments—hormonal therapies and pain management have only been temporary fixes. It’s now impacting your quality of life, your day-to-day activities. So, yes, my recommendation is a partial hysterectomy. It’s a step toward relieving those chronic issues, and while it limits your fertility options, it’s about getting you back to living without constant discomfort.”

“Limits? Surgery eliminates them. Jesus Christ, she’s only thirty-five.” Every passing second felt like a ticking clock; winding Trenton closer to a full-blown rage spiral.

“The onset of menopause is the only long-term, naturally occurring alternative for pain relief in your case, but that typically happens between ages forty-five and fifty-five. Until then, her symptoms will increase, and we can only offer temporary relief through various treatments—some of which can be quite costly. Unfortunately, without a more lasting and comprehensive solution like surgery, this is the best we can manage in terms of controlling pain and improving her quality of life.”

I looked to Camille.

“I guess it’s something to think about,” she said, her voice quiet.

“Do you have any questions?” Dr. Ley asked.

She shook her head and stood. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll let you know.”

“Camille,” the doctor said gently. “This isn’t a decision you need to make right away. You have time to fully consider what it means for you and your family. It’s your choice whether or not this is the path you want to take, and if it is, we’ll proceed only when you feel ready. There’s no rush, and I’m here to support you in whatever choice you make. You’ll know when the time is right, and then we’ll navigate it together.”

Camille nodded, then quietly exited his office, hurrying outside and across the parking lot. Once we reached the truck, she perched her elbows on her knees, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed. The only thing I could do was lean over and hold her. I’d never get used to not being able to fight the invisible things that hurt my wife, and I was beginning to think I’d carry around that helpless feeling forever.

Camille was quiet for the rest of the day. I’d already firmly directed everyone to leave her alone in her thoughts and not ask questions. As the sun began to set, we said goodbye to the last clients, closed the shop, and I followed her home without the radio on—my thoughts were already too loud. Take-out for dinner, a long bath, and one violent movie later (her choice), Camille crawled into bed next to me. Finally, she decided to talk. Once we started, it was like the dam broke, a flood of words, bargaining, anger, and fear mixed with relief, a few dark jokes, laughter, and comforting touch.

After a long night filled with deep talks, half-hearted decisions, and what felt like an ocean of tears, I stood in the kitchen, my eyes puffy and raw. Everything around me was moving in slow motion, stuck in a fog as I waited for the coffee pot to fill.

The sun barely peeked over the treetops as if it had better things to do than its only job. Outside, the grass was the picture of perfection, shiny and fresh from a morning shower. The neighbors’ porches were drowning in potted plants, garden gnomes, and chairs nobody used—a Pinterest board brought to life straight fromLush and Lovely Lawns. I wiped my hands on a dish towel, trying to shove down the dread rolling around in my stomach.

Spring used to be Camille’s almost favorite—second only to Halloween. Flowers, fresh starts, a juxtaposition to death and the macabre of fall and spooky season—but she was a beautiful ball of extremes, something I loved about her. Camille hadn’t mentioned anything about the warmer temps or colors this year, and I’d noticed. As I poured the breakfast blend into her favorite mug, loaded it up with sugar and vanilla creamer, I decided to make a move. I’d raid the storage shed, drag out the pastel decor, and deck the porch and mantle before she got home. A little pop of spring magic might lift her mood, even if only for a moment. Two hours earlier, she’d chosen to go through with the hysterectomy. The big decision. One only she could make, even though it felt like a blow to both of us.

At some point, we’d have to call Dr. Ley’s office to relay her decision and schedule the surgery, and I worried that would be tougher on her than the choice itself.

“Fuck,” I growled, planting my palms on the counter. I had to pick up Taylor and his family from the airport in a few hours, and Raegan and her husband Wesley were also coming into town. I shook my head, picked up her full, steaming mug, and carried it into the dark bedroom. Entertaining and babysitting would have to take a backseat for now. I knew everyone else would understand; it was Camille who would freak the fuck out.

I shut off my frustration and used the gentlest voice I could muster. “Morning, baby doll,” I said, setting her mug on the nightstand.

Camille stirred, groaned, and then after a few quiet moments of realization, she covered her eyes with the crook of her elbow. “I thought it was a bad dream,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I assured her, combing her hair away from her face with my fingers.

I didn’t rush her to get ready, instead taking my time, too. We’d both finished a full cup of coffee before we left the house, a first in years. I insisted on driving her to work, texting Dad on the way that I’d stop by to check on him later and that he’d have to reheat the breakfast casserole Camille had brought over the morning before.

Anytime Camille’s rigid and monotonous schedule was disturbed, everyone knew it was for good reason. Dad knew we’d explain when we could. Even Hazel could see by the sight of us it wasn’t time to do her usual incessant prodding, instead being extra sweet and helpful.

I worked straight through lunch and gave Camille a quick kiss goodbye before heading to the airport. I circled that damn roundabout a couple of times, trying to spot my brother and his wife and kids. Finally, they appeared. Taylor and Falyn had their hands full, standing on the covered sidewalk with a baggage cart piled high with roller bags, backpacks, and booster seats.

Taylor was grunting as he pushed the cart, looking like he was ready to pop a vein, while Falyn was doing her best to keep Hollis and Hadley from launching off the sides. The kids were having a blast, totally oblivious to the chaos around them, just riding that pile like it was a damn amusement park ride. I couldn’t help but chuckle. I used to think it was Travis and Abby’s life that was the walking disaster, but now Taylor and Falyn had taken the title. But it was a beautiful kind of chaos. At first sight, it was hard to believe they were there to circumvent the end of their marriage.

I jumped out of the truck, suddenly realizing it was out of sheer luck that it wasn’t still raining. I hadn’t even thought about having to put everything in the back. Taylor immediately pulled me in for a tight hug.

“Hey, shitpickle!” I teased, pounding his back.

“Language,” Falyn said, thinly veiling her annoyance.

---